


A Profound Impact

by illyrilex



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Study, Gen, Therapy, Trauma, Trying to piece together King's backstory one headcanon at a time, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 06:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrilex/pseuds/illyrilex
Summary: Years later, King’s loss to Jack Turner’s gang continues to trouble her.





	A Profound Impact

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look who's back with another story about everyone's favourite ex-bouncer.
> 
> So, there's this book: All About SNK 1991 - 2000 that has all kinds of neat info in it, and one such nugget about King is that she was defeated by Jack Turner and his gang before the events of the first AOF. We all know she absolutely despises Jack. But why? Let's dig into that a little more. As always, some stuff after.
> 
> Quick note about the timeline: All of my stories have been published in chronological order. Although the meat and potatoes of this one takes place in the past, the story itself takes place after Thanks For Nothing.
> 
> Oh, and, of course, King's name isn't canon and I'm (still) bothering SNK about it over on Twitter. Come join me.
> 
> Onward~!

The woman who went only by the alias “King” sat on a plush leather sofa in a small but cozy office, legs crossed, with her hands in her lap, and watched intently as her therapist, an older lady by the name of Doctor Shelley, picked up a legal pad and a blue pen before sitting down in an armchair across from her. She wrote something down, and then:

“I’d like to talk about something very specific today, Cécile.”  
  
King sat even straighter in her seat, apprehensive.

“What…?”  
“I’d like you to tell me about that night you mentioned when you first started coming here.”  
“What night?” King quirked a brow. She had a feeling she already knew, but she wanted the doctor to spell it out for her.  
“Awhile back you briefly mentioned an... event... that you don’t like to talk about.”  
“Oh. That. What about it?”  
“Well. I’d like us to finally talk about it,” Doctor Shelley told her bluntly.  
“Why? It’s… It doesn’t have any bearing on why I started seeing you in the first place. It would be a waste of time,” King replied.  
“I don’t think so. Given your reluctance to speak about it I’m going to guess that it had a profound impact on you. Did it not?”

King looked away as Doctor Shelley scribbled something in her notes.

“Understanding _exactly_ how that instance affected you might be helpful in dealing with your current situation…”  
“I already understand how it affected me. I don’t need to --”  
“But _I_ don’t. I’m trying to help you, Cécile, but to do that I need to better grasp what, exactly, happened to you back _then_ and how it differs from what happened to you a few months ago.”  
  
King crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her seat, suddenly a little upset.  
  
“I think how it differs is pretty fucking obvious!”  
“Cécile,” Doctor Shelley took off her glasses and wiped them with her scarf. “I really think it would be beneficial to know so that we might work through _all_ of your traumas. If you get too uncomfortable you can stop. No judgments.”

King took a deep breath. Her shrink was probably right, but she hated, hated, _hated_ the idea of opening up about that fight against the Black Cats, the one before she was King -- when she was _just_ Cécile. The logical part of her brain told her it was for the best: she knew she had some unresolved issues there, and telling Doctor Shelley about all of it probably _would_ help in the long run. The other part of her brain, however, told her she should just storm out of there and never look back.  
  
After several moments King uncrossed her arms and raked her hands through her hair.  
  
“Okay, then,” she sighed. “Where should I start?”  
“Let’s start with your age. How old were you?”  
“I was twenty. Almost twenty-one.”  
“A baby,” Doctor Shelley noted.  
“Yeah. I suppose…”

King took a deep breath; she could feel the increase in her heart rate as she recalled the details of that stupid night. She pulled her knees up to her chest (Doctor Shelley didn’t care if she put her feet on the furniture) and hugged her legs tightly before opening her mouth to speak once more.

 

 

###

 

Cécile Levasseur was absolutely beat: She spent the first half of her day attending classes (there was a really stressful exam in Art History that she was pretty sure left her with several gray hairs) before being called in to work early. Waiting tables at the posh L’Amour restaurant was tiring even on the slow nights, but Fridays were anything but slow: She had busted her ass nonstop, trying to scrounge up as many handsome tips as she could so she would be able to pay her bills. Luckily, her hard work hadn’t gone unnoticed, and pretty much every party she served left her with more than the standard fifteen percent.

Cécile yawned as she tucked a thick lock of chin-length hair behind her ear. She stretched her arms over her head before re-tying her sneaker. If there was anything she truly appreciated about her job, it was the uniform: white blouse, black slacks, black tie, and pretty much any footwear she wanted, be it high heels or Chuck Taylors. As soon as she finished with her shoe she picked up her backpack and headed toward the door.

“Are you heading home?”

A younger waitress by the name of Sally stopped Cécile at the entryway.

“Yeah. I need sleep.”  
“Well be careful out there. It’s late. You never know what kind of creeps are lurking…”  
“I can handle myself, but thanks!”

Cécile walked out into the somewhat mild night and started in the direction of the small apartment she had just started renting the month before. She didn’t know why, but she had the silliest feeling that she was being watched. She dismissed it as paranoia brought on by Sally’s comment and kept walking. Of course, there was nothing for her to be paranoid about anyway: she might have been a waitress, sure, but she was a waitress who just so happened to be an expert in Muay Thai. She felt confident walking the streets late at night because she knew damn well that she could _really_ hurt someone should they ever try to mess with her.

Several minutes passed. Cécile became absolutely certain that, not only was she being watched, she was being followed. She took a deep breath and stopped. She didn’t have the patience for such things.  
  
“You can cut the shit,” she said loudly as she turned around.

A grubby looking man holding an open bottle that was wrapped in a brown paper bag leered at Cécile.  
  
“You don’t have to get all upset,” he slurred. “We just wanna talk to you for a minute!”  
  
Two more men sauntered up beside the first guy: one looked kind of like a darker, dirtier version of Iggy Pop, while the other was large. _Really_  large. Cécile glared at the trio, more annoyed than anything.  
  
“Go talk to somebody else,” she retorted.  
“Hey, Jack,” the man holding the bottle said. “Blondie doesn’t want to talk.”  
“Ah, that’s okay. She’s just shy,” the large man called Jack waved his hand dismissively.

Cécile pressed her lips together in a thin line as she spun around and began to walk away. She really didn’t want to have to hurt anybody, but if it came down to a fight -- and a small part of her sort of hoped it would -- she wouldn’t hesitate to put the trio in the hospital.

“I can get her talking,” darker, dirtier Iggy Pop declared. “Come on, sweetheart! Tell us about yourself!”  
“Yeah, we’re not just some assholes! We’re nice guys!”  
“Nice guys don’t follow girls down dark streets,” Cécile said calmly.  
“We just want you to be safe,” Jack spoke up. “Pretty girls like you get eaten up alive out here.”  
“Is that right…?”

All of a sudden the first man walked up directly beside Cécile and violently shoved her into a fenced-off, nearly empty parking lot to her right: She let out a startled grunt as she stumbled, but remained on her feet. Although incredibly angry, she turned to the men, who were quickly closing in on her, and grinned.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” she told them almost happily.  
“Whatcha gonna do about it, baby?!”  
“Come find out, asshole!”

Cécile put her backpack down, got into her fighting stance, and quickly assessed the situation: her back was against the metaphorical wall but it really didn’t matter; she could easily take the three of them out with no problem. She probably wouldn’t even break a sweat.

The first man discarded his bottle before lunging toward Cécile: she threw a high kick that connected with his jaw, sending him backward.

“Bitch!”

Darker, dirtier Iggy Pop immediately tried to grab Cécile but she struck him with a hard knee to the gut. Before he could recover she executed a back flip with lightning speed: Both of her feet connected with the man’s face, which sent him reeling. As soon as she was back on her feet she kicked him in the face and chest several times in quick succession. He fell to the ground, his eyes glazed over. One down.

“Come on, ‘baby!’” Cécile taunted the two men who were still standing.  
“Jack! Can you believe this shit?!”

Jack laughed: it was a horrible sound that made Cécile want to rip her own ears off.

“Southtown is full of surprises,” he mused. “Go get her.”  
“Yeah,” Cécile spoke up. “Come get me!”

Before the other man could even do anything Cécile attacked: a single high kick straight to the temple knocked her opponent to the hard concrete. Two down.

Cécile looked up at Jack: she flashed him a cocky grin and wordlessly beckoned for him to come over to her.

“You sure you wanna do this, honey?”  
“I’ll take you on --!”

Without warning Jack launched into a heavy drop kick: Cécile easily dodged the maneuver and threw a knee that connected with Jack’s side. She struck him with a kick to the face that staggered him. One more and he’d probably be done; she could walk away and continue home without giving the thugs a second thought.

Before Cécile could go for that final hit Jack grabbed her with surprising speed and body slammed her: she cried out as she hit the ground hard. Jack tried to kick Cécile while she was down, but she hastily brought herself back to her feet; she hit him with a fierce elbow that bloodied his nose.

“Well, shit,” Jack laughed as he wiped his face. “You’ve got a lot of spunk, don’t you, hon?”

Cécile didn’t say anything as she sidestepped another one of Jack’s attacks. She did a backflip to create some space between them, but the second she landed she was met with a hard fist that knocked her back against a wall. She yelled, surprised by Jack’s speed, but, also, because that blow _hurt_ . Before she could fully recover Jack struck her with another punch that instantly bruised her cheek and knocked her against the wall once more.  
  
“You’re not _that_ tough, little girl! Give up!”

Cécile managed to duck out of the way as Jack threw yet another punch; there was a loud, sickening noise as his fist connected with the brick wall. He swore loudly and clutched at his hand; his bones were probably cracked all to hell.

Suddenly the first man grabbed Cécile’s ankle from his place down below, startling her, but only for a brief second. She turned and kicked him right in the face.  
  
“Fais gaffe!” Cécile warned mockingly. She turned her attention back to Jack -- just in time for him to spear her straight into a nearby car. She gasped as pain shot through her entire body, particularly behind her ear, which had banged into the vehicle’s side view mirror. Before she could do anything Jack grabbed her by her neck tie and pulled her back to her feet. He hit her with a backhanded slap that split her lip open before throwing her down: her hands and knees scraped against the concrete as she kept herself from landing flat on her face.

“You still think you’re tough?!” Jack asked Cécile as he delivered a kick to her abdomen. She crumpled to the ground, her palms and knees bloody, her head pounding. She turned on her side and looked up at Jack; he was about to kick her again, but she moved out of the way. His foot met nothing but air, throwing him off balance and creating an opportunity for Cécile to get back on her feet. She saw an opening and tried to take it by throwing a roundhouse kick toward Jack’s throat, but he blocked it and immediately punched her in the stomach. She let out a strangled yelp as she sank to her knees. How was this fat fuck able to move so fast!?

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jack said as he lifted Cécile, who was still struggling to catch her breath, off the ground and over his head. “Do you still think you’re tough?!”  
“Fu-fuck you!”

Cécile tried to squirm out of Jack’s grasp but it was no use. Just as she thought she might be able to free herself from the hold he swiftly threw her down. She landed next to darker, dirtier Iggy Pop, who looked like he might have been coming to: she struck him with a weak elbow to make sure he remained out of the fight before she climbed to her feet. Her entire body was screaming in agony, but making Jack pay for even laying a finger on her was a goddamn mission. There was no way she was going to lose to this guy! She put her fists up, ready to defend herself once more.

“It’s not over yet,” Cécile growled.  
“Oh, honey,” Jack shook his head. “You should have stayed down!”  
  
With that, he charged forward and tackled Cécile, completely knocking the wind out of her. He then lifted her up by her neck and held her high for just a moment before slamming her on to the hood of another nearby car. He followed the chokeslam up with a straight blow to her face that gave her a bloody nose.

“You should have just let the boys talk to you a little bit,” Jack told Cécile as he dragged her up by her collar. “It wouldn’t have come to this.” He tossed her down as if she was nothing more than a pile of trash.

Cécile’s head was swimming: she knew she had to get back up, and fast, otherwise… otherwise what? She couldn’t think straight and everything hurt.  
  
“Je n’ai pas les mots,” she said more to herself than to Jack.  
“What was that, honey?”  
“I…” Cécile wiped the blood from her lip as she unsteadily rose to her feet. Before she could even begin to form a coherent thought she was grabbed from behind. She struggled to break away, but she was in so much fucking pain, and she was _so_ fucking dazed -- it was unreal.  
  
“Try to get out of _this_ , you bitch,” the first man, the one who held the bottle earlier, snarled in to Cécile’s ear. How the hell was he even awake?!

“Let… go!”

Jack casually walked up to Cécile and held her chin with one hand as he scrutinized her features.  
  
“It was a nice try, honey. You’ve got guts -- I like that. But the boys like it more.”

Darker, dirtier Iggy Pop limped over then, and glowered at Cécile before turning to Jack.

“What do you wanna do with her, Boss?”  
“You guys figure it out. I’m outta here.”

With that, Jack turned on his heel and walked off. For some reason Cécile had the strangest urge to ask him to come back.

“Are you ready to _talk_ yet, Blondie?”  
“Fou moi la paix!”  
  
The first man reached around and put his hand over Cécile’s mouth while darker, dirtier Iggy Pop walked directly in front of her. He looked her up and down, his eyes still a little glassy, but hungry. His expression made Cécile’s skin crawl. She fought against the first man while the other moved her tie out of the way so he could grab the front of her shirt: he forcibly tore it open, hoping to expose her breasts. The disappointment on his face when he saw that she was wearing a tank top over her bra was palpable.

“Aww, look at that,” he said. “Layers.”  
“What are you doing?” The first man asked impatiently. “Get her pants!”

Cécile entered a full-blown panic and redoubled her efforts to break free while she tried -- unsuccessfully -- to scream. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. This _couldn’t_ be happening!

As soon as darker, dirtier Iggy Pop reached for the button on her pants she threw a hard knee directly to his groin; he howled as his testicles were smashed inward. Cécile then went dead weight, which caught the first man by surprise: he loosened his grip on her, but only slightly. However, it was just enough for her to get away. She started forward, but was instantly tackled to the ground. The man grabbed her by her shoulder and flipped her over so she was on her back before climbing on top of her. He took her wrists in his hands and pinned them down on either side of her.  
  
“I like it when dumb cunts like you make it difficult,” the man smiled as he tightened his grip. “It makes it more _fun_ !”

Cécile was repulsed; she could feel the man’s erection through his pants. She fought against him as hard as she could given her weakened state, but she wasn’t having any luck. He had her firmly in his grasp.  
  
“Get… _off_ of… me!”  
“Aww, sweetheart,” darker, dirtier Iggy Pop finally recovered from the savage attack and made his way over so he was on the opposite side of his partner, near Cécile’s head. He grabbed her wrists so the first man could let her go to fumble with her clothing. “You look like the kind of girl who likes it rough. I bet you scream real loud, don’t you?”

Cécile kept fighting as the first man clawed at her pants. She started to scream, but he swiftly covered her mouth. Tears stung her eyes; she was absolutely terrified. There was nowhere for her to go: she couldn’t run, she couldn’t hit, and she couldn’t even call for help. She was completely at their mercy. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself not to cry. They’d like that too much.

“Hey!”

A loud, male voice called out from somewhere on the sidewalk. Cécile redoubled her efforts to scream, hoping that whoever was there would hear her and -- hopefully -- help her.

“What’s going on over here?!”  
“Nothing that concerns you,” the first man exclaimed as he addressed the stranger.  
“Yeah! Just keep moving, pal,” darker, dirtier Iggy Pop added.

Cécile attempted to crane her head so she could see the newcomer, but she was at a weird angle. She tried to shout at the stranger but what came out was nothing but a muffled mess.

“I’m not your pal. Let her go!”

The first man removed his hand from Cécile’s mouth so he could stand up.  
  
“Please,” she started. “I --”  
“Shut up!” Darker, dirtier Iggy Pop commanded her. “Dude, take care of this!”  
“I got it,” the first man said. He started forward, only to be thrown backward by what Cécile could only guess was a very strong punch.

“Asshole!”

Darker, dirtier Iggy Pop let Cécile go; she immediately sat up and scrambled on all fours toward her backpack, which was still near the entrance of the lot. She very quickly buttoned her pants back up before climbing to her feet and plucking the bag from its place on the ground. She caught a quick glimpse of darker, dirtier Iggy Pop crashing into a nearby car, and a red sneakered foot connecting with his face before she took off running as fast as she could. She was pretty sure that whoever had come to her aid shouted after her, but she didn’t dare look back.

When Cécile reached her apartment building she ran inside and didn’t even bother with the elevator: she took the stairs two by two until she reached the correct floor. The second she got into her apartment she threw her bag across the room; she sank down to the floor with her back against the door and sobbed uncontrollably. Her body was still in extreme pain and her lungs burned and her legs felt like they were going to snap off at the knees but she was home, and she was safe, but she was still scared out of her mind. She buried her face in her skinned knees: her tears stung the bloody abrasions as a million and one thoughts raced through her mind.

 

###

 

King swallowed hard as she stared at the floor, her vision blurred from tears she was trying hard not to shed. There was a loaded silence in the room as Doctor Shelley wrote something down.

“...wow,” she finally said after another minute. She reached for a box of tissues and handed them to King, who took them reluctantly.

“That’s it? Just… ‘wow?’”  
“Oh my god.”  
“Yeah...”

King grabbed a tissue and wiped the corners of her eyes as Doctor Shelley jotted something else down.  
  
“I swore to myself that I would _never_ be in that position again.” King crumpled the tissue up. “But we both know how that turned out. When I was… it was almost like being in that parking lot all over again. Just much, much worse. Obviously.”  
“Cécile…”  
“Please don’t call me that right now.”

Doctor Shelley frowned.

“That is an extremely traumatic thing for a young woman to go through. Maybe, in some ways, it was _more_ traumatic than your actual --”  
“Tread carefully, Doc.”  
“I’m sorry. It’s… You end up thinking of the ‘what ifs’ -- and that uncertainty creates even more anxiety, doesn’t it?”  
“Ten points to Gryffindor,” King replied sarcastically.  
“I’m a Ravenclaw.”

King made a face as she leaned her head back against the sofa. She looked up at the ceiling and let out a loud sigh as she stretched her legs out in front of her and covered her face with her hands. Dredging all of that up left her feeling incredibly drained.

“Was that the first fight you lost?”  
“Yes.”  
“Is this where your disdain for men came from?”  
“I wouldn’t call it ‘disdain,’” King started while she uncovered her face. “And… maybe. A little. I don’t know…”  
“Did you enter into any sexual relationships with men after this incident?”  
“...No.”  
“But you did have a girlfriend.”  
“Yes.”

There was a pause as Doctor Shelley took even more notes.

“If you think that I avoided relationships with men because of it, you’re wrong. And before you ask -- no. This isn’t why I started cross-dressing. That was for the job.”  
“Which started…?”  
“I don’t know… two months later? It doesn’t matter -- _none_ of this matters!”

King shifted in her seat, uncomfortable, as Doctor Shelley wrote something else.  She watched as the therapist read the sentence over and frowned before removing her glasses. She looked at King; her expression was earnest.  
  
“You have to learn how to come to terms with this, Cé -- _King_ \--  just like you have to learn to come to terms with your recent ordeal…”  
“What do you think I’ve _been_ doing?!”  
“You’ve made excellent progress, but the way you speak about _this_ particular event is very telling. You’re _very_ upset about it all this time later -- which is understandable -- but the level of agitation you’re displaying tells me that you never recovered from it. We’ll work on that.”

King took a deep breath as she fixed her eyes on a tiny clock that sat on a nearby desk. She still had twenty minutes left in her session but she wanted it to be over. She _needed_ it to be over.

“I’d like to leave early,” she told the doctor abruptly. “I… I don’t want to think about this anymore.”  
“That’s fine, but, sometimes, we have to do things we don’t want to. I know that facing this is going to be very difficult for you, but I’m here to help you through that.”  
“Th-thanks.”  
  
King took a deep breath and brusquely walked out of the office. She exited the building and jogged through heavy rain to her car. Once inside the vehicle she gripped the steering wheel and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to purge any and all thoughts of Jack Turner and his gang from her head, but it was no use: she could see and hear them clear as day. With a frustrated sigh, she pushed her damp hair away from her eyes as she started the car.

She was going to go home and pour herself a massive drink.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. That was... something, wasn't it?
> 
> * On King being a waitress at L'Amour: This is how she found out about the bouncer position: because she was already an employee there. Also, she totally stole Sally after she opened Illusion.
> 
> * Okay, look. I know that Jack Turner said in the first AOF that they (Big's Syndicate, and, presumably, the Black Cats as well) don't hurt women and children but we all know that's bullshit.
> 
> * Iggy Pop is a rock star. Go look him up.
> 
> * Fais gaffe = be careful/watch out
> 
> * Je n'ai pas les mots = I don't have the words
> 
> * Fou moi la paix = a crude way of saying "leave me alone"
> 
> * There are meant to be parallels between this fight and the fight in Much Like Suffocating. That's totally intentional. On the subject of MLS, if you've read it you should know that that fight was super unfair, seeing as how King went into it with a head injury, which is why she gets beaten so badly there.
> 
> * For those who are not into Harry Potter, when King says "Ten points to Gryffindor" she's referring to the points system at Hogwarts. Gryffindor is the gold standard Hogwarts house that everyone totally wants to be in. Ravenclaw is where you're sorted if you're hella smart. And, in case you were curious, King is totally a Slytherin. I won't get into details here, but, like... trust.
> 
> * In case you're like "Why didn't King think of this stuff in your other stories?!" here's the deal: she did. There are a few throwaway lines here and there, but her ordeal in MLS sort of trumped her defeat to Jack. Just a little bit.
> 
> * Any ideas on who the Good Samaritan was? ;)
> 
> Okay, I think that's it for this installment of... stuff. Hopefully next time I'll bring you guys something a little less upsetting. We'll just have to see. As always, thank you for reading and reviewing and - especially to my "regulars." You all know who you are and I adore you! Cheers~!


End file.
